To Have and To Hold
by Whisp
Summary: Clint and Phil have been together a long time. They are very firmly past their honeymoon stage


In the middle of the move Tony had dubbed mission 'frat house', Steve and Natasha were busy prepping food for the night's dinner when the elevator opened to the sound of two voices bickering. Loudly.

"How hard is it to wrap plates?" Phil's voice echoed down the hallway.

Clint's voice sounded affronted, "Well, if I'd know you were going to drop kick the box across the room, I maybe would have padded it more."

"See that's where you're mistaken. You can only pad them more if there was any padding there to begin with. A sheet of newspaper do not count as sufficient insulation."

"Fine, then you go ahead and pack it next time. I'll be the standing around bitching about how long you're taking."

"If you'd started more than three hours before the moving truck got there, maybe I wouldn't have had to say anything."

The duo watched as Phil and Clint marched by the kitchen entrance on their way to their suite still arguing, arms full of cardboard boxes and oblivious to the attention of their teammates.

"Should we intervene?" Steve asked Natasha.

She snorted, "Those two? Won't help. They're constantly at each others' throats."

He cocked his head, confused. "I thought they were married."

Natasha grimaced, "They are."

* * *

"Who on earth folded the laundry like that?"

"Who the hell do you think folded the laundry like that?"

"Well how am I suppose to know?"

"Don't give me that crap. There are exactly two people who would be folding the laundry, so if you didn't do it, then obviously it was me. So don't go pulling this 'who did it' shit like I don't know who you're talking about. You want to complain, then do it straight to my face."

* * *

"We had Thai last time. It's my turn to pick dinner."

"No, your turn was that barely passing the health inspection bagel shop in that alleyway."

"That doesn't count! There was like 3 places to choose from and I chose the least sketchy one."

"The operative word being chose, which mean it is now my turn."

"That's a load of shit. Come on Bruce, back me up here."

Bruce plucked the phone from Phil's hand and the handful of menus from Clint's. "How about we make it my turn to choose," he said in a tight voice, "because I'm about to ruin another shirt and cause a tower wide lockdown, and that is guaranteed to ruin everyone's appetite."

* * *

Tony thumped his head against the table as voices could be heard down the hallway. "How have those two not killed each other yet? I'm about to kill them, and I've only been living with them for 3 days!"

"They do seem a bit more collected in the field." Steve pointed out.

Natasha laughed, "That's Agent Barton and Agent Coulson you're thinking about. Those two are professionalism to the highest degree. At home though, you're looking at Clint and Phil at their very finest."

There's a muffled shout from the room, and Tony winced, "Seriously guys, think about it. No jury in this world would convict me."

"I'm sure there's better ways to go about that. How long would it take to soundproof their entire suite?" Bruce asked.

"Too long." Tony said remorsefully, "Much, much too long."

* * *

"Do you have to watch that?"

Clint looked up from the TV screen. "Dog Cops on a giant, take-up-an-entire-wall TV? Hell yeah I do."

"You've already seen this episode. Why are you watching it again?"

"It's a classic. And hey, I don't stop you from rereading your books, do I?"

Phil frowned and crossed his arms. Clint pointed and crowed, "Ha! No comeback to that, huh?" He settled back into the couch with his bowl of popcorn and crunched on a handful in satisfaction.

Phil sniffed, "I hardly think that Yeats and Coleridge can be compared to your little TV show."

"Yeah, because obviously Dog Cops would kick their collective asses." Clint said around a full mouth.

"Chew and swallow please, you're disgusting."

Clint responded by leaning his head back on the couch cushions, dropping his mouth open, and sticking out a tongue full of half chewed kernels.

* * *

At the end of the day, the door to their bedroom slowly creaked open and Clint slipped in quietly.

Phil was already sleeping on the left side of the bed, half sprawled on his back and slightly angled towards the door.

As silently as he could, Clint slid in between the sheets and snuggled down into his pillow with a contented sigh. Automatically, Phil rolled closer until he was pressed up against Clint's side, face smooshed into his arm, still half asleep. He muttered something incoherent into the skin of Clint's bicep.

Clint shifted himself until he could tuck his feet under Phil calves where the bed was already nice and warm. Phil grunted at the contact of cold skin, waking enough to lift his head off his pillow and glare blearily at Clint. "Aren't you suppose to be in Portugal?"

"On our anniversary? Never. Wild dogs couldn't keep my away." Clint declared.

Phil huffed a laugh. He slid up closer until his chest was up against Clint's back, sliding his arm under Clint's neck and pressing a kiss to the back of Clint's shoulder. "I love you." He whispered sleepily.

Clint's grin was lost in the dim lighting of the room as he replied softly, "I love you too."


End file.
